


Trial of a rat

by ElnaK



Series: Books of Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Roller Coaster, Gen, testimony, trial, truth versus lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElnaK/pseuds/ElnaK
Summary: Sirius gets a wand while staking out Hogwarts, and collects himself enough to handle the Pettigrew case more efficiently





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the only time I will ever write something so lengthy from Peter's POV, because I don't like him.  
> I hope you'll appreciate that I didn't turn him into a purely evil character, though.

Peter came back to himself in a state of utter confusion.

He could feel his limbs, but he couldn't move. It was as if he had been stupefied, but without falling to the ground as a result. He certainly couldn't feel the ground, or anything else for the matter, pressing against his cheek. For all he knew, he could have been floating mid-air, because with his shoes on, no matter how derelict they were these days, he couldn't feel if he was standing on something or not. In fact, the only thing he was certain of, was that he wasn't head down, feet up, because then he'd be able to tell with all the blood rushing where it wasn't supposed to be, and the subsequent headache...

Peter almost gasped as he realized something. Almost, because he wasn't able to move at all. So obviously, gasping wasn't possible.

But it wasn't what worried him the most right now. What worried him the most right now was that he could feel his cheeks, his feet, and not his fur, his paws. In other word, he was in human form, he wasn't Wormtail anymore.

He was recognizable as Peter Pettigrew, and tied up with some spell, and not undiscernable as a rat amongst dozens of other rats. Someone had found him, had turned him back to human state, and had tied him up. Someone who knew who Wormtail, or Scabbers as of late, really was, because people didn't actually shoot animagus reversal spells at random animals.

And there were only two living people who knew about his animagus form. And there was only one person who knew him to be alive.

And no matter which one found him, Peter would suffer.

Of course, Peter'd rather be found by Remus than by Sirius.

Various reasons to that.

First of all, while Remus might hand him over to the Ministry, and then, direction Azkaban right away, the werewolf may listen to his story first, whereas Sirius already knew the story, and wouldn't bother with Azkaban. And Peter would rather go to Azkaban, and get a chance to escape at some point. Even if he had no idea how he'd do that, because he wasn't Freaking Sirius Black, and even if his animagus form would be a better mean to pass undetected than Sirius', Remus would tell the Ministry about his ability, and then they would make it so that he wouldn't be able to escape as a rat. Still, the good point of the Azkaban scenario was that it'd give him some time, and more opportunities to get the hell out of Dodge. Unlike being dead. Because being dead ended the story, definitively. And Peter had no doubt Sirius would put an end to his life if he found him.

Whether or not there'd be some torture involved before the execution was still under consideration.

Next reason, because if Remus would be downright hateful and would never forgive him, Peter's former friend wasn't as frightening as his other former friend. In the grand scheme of things, Peter's worst fear was the Dark Lord, some of his most insane followers, like Bellatrix and Crouch Jr., and then Sirius. But it was only because the firsts didn't care about him, and would have gotten rid of him without even thinking about it twice if the fancy took them. But they were locked away, dead, or missing-in-a-far-away country right now. Sirius, on the other hand, was nearly onto him, maybe he even had him. And if Sirius wasn't crazy like the Dark Lord and his followers, though Peter was still considering that too, with all the years in Azkaban and everything; even if he wasn't that kind of insane... Sirius was, perhaps, more frightening than even the Dark Lord, at least for Peter. Because Sirius had always been a dangerous person. Only, Peter had never been on the wrong side of Sirius Black, not until that fateful Halloween night. Because Sirius was here, unlike the Dark Lord. Because Sirius would not hesitate to make him pay, when the Dark Lord didn't care.

The Dark Lord might have been the most terrifying individual, years ago, and Peter may have stayed in rat form for all these years for fear of being discovered by his followers, but it had nothing to compare with being the only person on Sirius Black's black list. Years ago, Peter had known that if he didn't betray his friends, he had no chances of survival. But years ago, Sirius hadn't know about his betrayal. And years ago, that betrayal hadn't cost Sirius Black everything, not yet.

And now, Sirius was out, and searching for him.

And now, Peter's body was unresponsive, and tied up by some spell, and it could be Sirius who had made all that happen.

The man's heart was beating faster and faster. He knew this feeling. It was fear.

Peter couldn't hear a thing, except some shuffling of a robe on the ground not to far away. He tried to open his eyes.

Which resulted in absolutely nothing, because he had been blindfolded.

Which was never a good thing.

Peter could barely hear anything else than his own heartbeats, at this point.

A few minutes passed in silence, during which he felt himself becoming more and more nervous, more and more frightened, always imagining a worse situation.

Then he heard a voice, and his heart missed a beat.

“Peter. Long time no see.”

Sirius.

The fact that he was still alive wasn't reassuring at all, despite the paradox it may sound like. Because Peter had always been sure Sirius would kill him on the spot if he got out of Azkaban, which he had done, and if he found him, which he had also done. But Sirius was here, his friend had him at his mercy, and Peter was still alive.

While Peter liked his life enough to sell his friends to the Dark Lord, he wasn't very fond of torture. And if Sirius hadn't killed him yet, he was surely planning to skin him alive.

Or something of the sort, anyway.

Sirius might not have shared his family's views, and he might have been more controlled than his insane cousin Bellatrix, he was still a Black. Never forgiving, never forgetting, and compromising only when they had a reason to.

Peter had nothing to offer against his continued survival, and his actions certainly didn't fall under any of the categories that could have saved his life. Sirius may be incredibly tolerant, even if he didn't always show it, but there were a few things he would never be tolerant about.

There was no point pleading his case with Sirius, even if he hadn't outright killed him. With Remus, at least, Peter might have gathered some pity points.

“I'll explain the rules, Peter. You can scream all you want, no one will hear you and come to your help, but obviously, I'd like it better if you could not scream at all.”

Well, for now, Peter wasn't about to scream at all. Not only was he hexed into immobility, but he also couldn't say a word. His lips were unmovable. Which made sense if he had been stupefied, but still.

Hadn't he been at the mercy of a former friend whom he had betrayed in the worst possible ways, Peter may have wondered why Sirius insisted on rules. As it was, his mind was too terrified to go there.

“I stupefied you and blindfolded you, so I think it'd be fair of me to tell you where you are now. You, my old friend, are standing rigid in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. There are acromantulas, as you know well, to the North, and Hogwarts is miles away. I have put up various runic wards, so even if we were to be interrupted, I'd have more than enough time to apparate both of us away. Also, no sound inside these wards will be heard out of them.”

Peter forced himself to calm down. Or, at least, to try and calm down.

It was something difficult to do when your very dangerous and betrayed friend whom you had framed years ago had found you and had you at their mercy.

Especially since Sirius sounded somewhat sane. Sane Sirius meant harder-to-deceive Sirius, and less chances to get the hell away. Sane Sirius was very observant, very intelligent, and very focused on not losing his pray, Peter would bet. Whereas obsessed Sirius would have at least lost some of his observation skills.

In a dark and frightened corner of his mind, Peter wondered how came Sirius sounded so sane, when his last attempt to get him, during Halloween, had been frantic and furious enough to slash the Fat Lady several times.

Since his escape, and even before that, since his jailing in Azkaban, Peter doubted his former friend had eaten enough. He doubted Sirius had gotten enough sleep. And being on the run had to be exhausting. For Sirius to be able to concentrate on not being too obsessed, because it was the more likely attitude to get caught, he'd have to be at least somewhat not-starving, not-sleep-deprived...

But other things bothered Peter, right now, and anyway, he doubted he'd ever get the answers to his questions. So he left it at that.

“Now, Peter, I will allow you to speak. And we will have long, civil conversation. Like two old friends who found each other again and wish to know how life has been treating them lately. You'll tell me about betrayal and framing, I'll tell you about suffering and revenge. What do you think?”

There was a silence, as if Sirius was waiting for an answer.

But Peter still couldn't speak, and there was no way his former friend had forgotten about that.

“Oh, right.”

There was a short incantation that Peter didn't know, and the prisoner started to feel something in his body. Like a vague of warmth, which didn't linger. A temporary comfort, at best. Then it was back to the freezing cold in his flesh and bones.

“Better now?”

Peter's jaw twitched a bit, and he understood that, if he couldn't move, he could speak again. It was as if the spell on him had fallen, but only on his face.

“Si... Sirius...”

Then Peter realized he didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say to defend himself than wouldn't be a lie, which Sirius would detect, and that his former friend would be willing to listen to. Begging for his life wouldn't change a thing either with Sirius. And if he said how sorry he was that it had turned out this way, which was true, Sirius might just get angrier, because “Sorry” couldn't erase what had happened.

It wasn't as if Peter had wanted all this to turn out like it had. At first, he had only wanted to save his hide. An attempt that had taken a turn for the worst.

There was a silence.

Peter could imagine Sirius standing over there, probably leaning against a tree, with an arched eyebrow. It was how it'd have happened, had they been fifteen years ago.

But now, Peter knew the scene wouldn't look the same. Even admitting that, perhaps, Sirius was leaning against a tree, only to play with his nervosity, it wouldn't change the fact that they looked nothing like before. Peter hadn't been in human form in some time, but he knew his clothes had to be ragged. He had gotten fat. He had lost hair. And more important, he was lacking a finger.

A finger which he had used to frame Sirius, amongst other things.

Peter had seen the wanted picture of his former friend at the Weasleys'.

A photograph of Sirius Black, calmly leaning against a wall of Azkaban, just like Peter imagined him to be leaning against a tree right now. Only skin and bones, paler than ever, dark and dirty hair falling in a mess upon his shoulders. A strand of black hair falling on his face. A frozen shadow of a long-forgotten smile. Sunken cheeks. And two eyes, burning with rage, freezing with revenge. Two silver strikes looking at the photographer, on the other side of the bars, accusingly disdainful.

For someone like Peter, who knew Sirius Black, it was easy to see past the hearsay of madness. And for Peter especially, who knew the true story of Sirius Black's guilt, it was obvious what his former friend was accusing the world of doing.

What Sirius was accusing him of.

Sirius broke the silence after a time.

“Well, nothing more to say?”

The man's voice was broken, a little raspy from not being used enough, but he still sounded clear to Peter's ears. There was sarcasm, hidden deep in this voice, and enough hatred to burn the United Kingdom.

“In this case, I'll be starting.”

Peter heard someone walking to him, and unless Sirius had found a way to make friends since his escape from Azkaban, which was unlikely, it had to be his former friend. His suspicions were confirmed when Sirius' voice rang again, louder than before, even if he hadn't spoken any louder. Sirius was simply nearer.

“There's a reason for the blindfold, obviously. You see, Peter, there isn't much to see in Azkaban. Sure, you can actually see the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the bars, the prisoner in the cell across the corridor, the guard who gets you your... let's say food, and not meals. And the occasional dementor, of course. But there isn't really anything to see. And you feel much despair, thanks to our beloved dementors. Yes, them again. Incredible, they are everywhere, you wouldn't believe me. Eitherway, I've heard that wearing a blindfold while in a position of danger is a good way for fear to settle in. So, taking into consideration both the lack of sight and the despair, I concluded it'd be the most effective way to make you feel like you are where you belong, without actually calling in a dementor. They're lovely and all, but for now they are a bit too focused on Kissing me. Which wouldn't do at all.”

Sirius stopped talking for a time, and Peter thought he heard the clink of a bottle being lifted carelessly from a rock. With the state Sirius' voice was in, he wasn't exactly surprised that his former friend took breaks to drink a bit. What confused him was where the escapee had found a bottle. Padfoot or no Padfoot, Peter doubted Sirius could just get inside the castle as he wanted.

“My point, now. The blindfold is me being cruel, but I think you deserved it. At least for the time of a long-overdue conversation.”

“And what... what next, Sirius? Once the conversation is over?”

Peter wasn't sure he wanted an answer to that question, but he was pretty sure Sirius would tell him at some point. One way or another, hints or no hints. And even if he didn't warn him beforehand, the conversation would end at some point. And then, Peter would know.

“Then it is over, Peter. Like it should have been twelve years ago, when I caught up to you in that street. When I'll loose the blindfold, Peter, it will be over for you.”

The extreme calmness of Sirius' voice wasn't soothing Peter's nerves. So matter-of-fact, it only made it sound more ominous. There would be no hesitation.

If Peter wanted to make it out alive, he'd have to free himself before the blindfold fell. Which was easier said than done.

Peter didn't want to die.

“What... do you want to... talk about?”

So he was stalling.

He was pretty sure Sirius knew exactly what he was trying to do, but it wouldn't deter him from trying. After all, if there was one thing Peter was good at, it was saving his own hide.

“Oh, you know, nothing too serious. Or, many things, but we won't have the time for all of them, I fear. I was thinking of starting simply, with how you should have spent the last twelve years in Azkaban instead of me. Tell me, Peter, how does it feel to be a traitor?”

The calmness had disappeared, turning into a sharp edge. Sirius still controlled himself, better than most people in time of stress, and certainly better than Peter, but his former friend could tell it would only take one wrong answer to make him explode.

Now, while it may have given Peter an opportunity to escape, he still was hexed into immobility, and saw absolutely no way out of that. Besides, it was more probable for Sirius to just become violent, possibly deadly, than for him to make a mistake big enough that Peter would be able to use it.

Peter certainly wasn't going to anger Sirius on purpose when it was almost certain that he'd manage to do it at some point, no matter what, because he had already done enough in his life to deserve that anger.

“I didn't... Sirius, I didn't do it on purpose, you have to kn... to know that...”

His voice was shaky, and Peter couldn't do a thing about it.

“Right. But you still did it, my friend. Be happy that I'm at least giving you a mock trial. I didn't get one, myself, and I was innocent. Be happy, Peter.”

Peter heard his former friend take a step back. He could imagine him, squinting slightly in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, his eyes two slits of rightful hatred.

“Alright. If you could please give me your whole name, Peter, so that we can begin this trial?”

If he had been able to, Peter would have frozen at that moment. With what he had done, to the Order, to Sirius, to James and Lily, there was no way Sirius would be mocking him right now. Sirius could do a lot of things, including remaining apparently calm no matter the situation, as long as he was in good enough health. But mocking Peter's crimes, it wasn't something the Sirius Black he knew would, or could do.

So either Sirius had changed a lot during his years in Azkaban and had lost his mind a bit, or he had something planned. And given the circumstances, it could only be something cruel. A fitting epilogue for the traitorous Marauder, before a grand ending that would fall into death.

Each word Peter would say could be turned against him, if he wasn't careful.

But Peter didn't care, at that point. Because Sirius was going to get his way no matter how careful he was with his words. His former friend was like that, and Peter knew he was out of his league.

So he'd rather focus on trying to do something, anything, to get away.

Which meant, for now, stalling.

“Why do you... want... me to say my name? It's just the two of us, Sirius...”

The answer he got was colder than before.

“You lended me twelve years in Azkaban, and you sold James and Lily to Voldemort, Peter. If I want us to pretend this is the trial that should have happened, considering I hadn't blown you to smithereens at some point, obviously, if I want it, you indulge me.”

Peter shivered as he heard the name of the Dark Lord, and for a moment he didn't say a thing.

“Indulge me, Peter.”

The prisoner gulped.

“My... My name is Pe... Peter Pettigrew.”

“Good. Now, do you know what you are being accused of?”

The edge in Sirius' voice had almost disappeared again, even if Peter could say it was underlying in the fake cheerfulness that had taken its place.

For a moment, he was tempted to play dumb.

Then he remembered it was Sirius, and not Remus, who had him tied up in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. There was no point in trying to lie, at least not about the facts. Sirius knew too much to be fooled; what he didn't know for sure, he certainly had guessed, and guessed right at that.

If anything, he should be honest about the parts he was sure Sirius knew.

“I sold Harry to Voldemort and I got the blame to fall on you.”

“You sold the Potters to Voldemort, and you framed an innocent friend with your crimes. But that's not all you did, isn't it, Peter?”

“I don't know... I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius...”

“Of course you do. Think again, Peter. Who else than James, Lily, Harry, and myself, did you betray? Whose blood do you have on your hands, Peter?”

Peter took a deep breath, not for comfort, obviously, but because he could tell that Sirius would wriggle everything and anything out of him, and because that was going to hurt.

He hadn't wanted people to die because of him. He hadn't wanted to sell the members of the Order to the Dark Lord. He hadn't wanted to be a freaking mole.

But it had been them, or him. And Peter did not want to lose his life. And he certainly didn't want to be tortured for information. He knew he'd have broken, one day or another, so what was the point in stalling? He wasn't James, brave and loyal. He wasn't Remus, convinced of his own worthlessness. He wasn't Sirius, ready to endure anything if only to prove someone wrong.

He was just Poor, Poor Peter Pettigrew.

He would have been broken, at some point. And Bellatrix and her goons would have gotten their intel, in the end. They'd have killed the members of the Order all the same.

So why should he have suffered beforehand?

Peter hadn't wanted to be a traitor. But he had been given a choice between life and death, between betrayal and suffering. He had chosen life and betrayal.

And Sirius would make sure that he'd suffer for his choice.

“Benjamin Fenwick. And Martha... Glenhill, whom we were protecting in the shadows. And I... I told your cousin about the Bones' party.”

What he got for his honesty was a sarcastic comment full of acid. A comment that reminded him too much of Bellatrix Lestrange, when he went and reported to her.

“Good boy, Pettigrew! So you were the one to tell them about Glenhill. I hadn't been sure until now. But at least, you didn't sell the Prewett Brothers. Don't worry, Peter, I don't hold you responsible for absolutely everything. I am aware that every war comes with its casualties.”

Peter had the disturbing feeling he was going to be the next casualty, but he didn't think it smart to speak his mind. After all, he had blood on his hands. He knew it all too well. It would be surprising if Sirius didn't hold it against him.

Sirius might be a bit too open-minded when it came to dark magic, but he had his priorities straight. Mostly.

“So we can say you were a freaking mole. That being said, let's pass onto the true subject of this trial: the murders of the Potters, and how you framed your own friend for him to take the fall.”

Lily's and James' faces came to Peter's mind but he made them disappear as soon as he could. He wasn't proud of himself, no, but he had done what he could. He hadn't told the Dark Lord right away, he had waited almost one whole week, hoping against hope that Sirius would go back on his decision and be the Secret Keeper. Then he wouldn't have been able to tell the Dark Lord anything.

But Sirius hadn't changed his mind, and after one week of foolish hope that he would, Peter had come to realize it wouldn't happen.

He could have kept the secret some more time, he supposed, but certainly not forever. The Dark Lord was keen on using Legilimancy on his unmarked followers. The ones whom, like him, weren't in the inner cercle. The ones who hadn't been branded, and so could chicken out and go tell the Ministry, because there was no proof of their felony.

Peter would have said “the ones the Dark Lord did not trust”, but it would have implied that the Dark Lord trusted some of his followers. And Peter knew too well that the Dark Lord trusted no one.

At best he wasn't wary of some, namely Bellatrix Lestrange and all those who were as crazy as her. The ones who lived, who breathed for his sole existence, and who would rather get killed than to compromise. The others, they were to self-serving to be trusted.

Someone like Peter Pettigrew, who was serving the Dark Lord only because of fear, the Dark Lord had no qualms about forcing his way in their mind. And it was better for Peter to just tell him, rather than to wait until the next legilimency attack. He had risked enough in one week, it had been time to tell the truth.

That James Potter had made him his Secret Keeper.

Peter had risked enough, holding out almost one week.

He wasn't James, Remus or Sirius. He was Peter. It was expected of him not to be as good as them.

“You... were the one... who decided it'd be a better idea for me to be the Secret Keeper, Sirius! If you hadn't, if you had taken the role, it would never have happened! You knew me! You should have known I wasn't strong enough!!!”

Something cold fell against his forehead, and Peter was taken with the urge to take a step back. But he couldn't move, and anyway, he was already soaked. Sirius had probably thrown his glass of water on him. Anger.

But Sirius should have known.

“Maybe you are right, Peter. Maybe I should have suspected you from the beginning. Maybe I should have understood right away who was the snivelling bastard in our group of friends, when Dumbledore said there was a spy amongst us! Would you have liked that better, Peter? For us to know you better than we seemingly did? Would you rather we had no trust in you?”

No, he wouldn't have.

In fact, he had felt both relieved and guilty, when, after Dumbledore's news, James had immediately taken him apart, and warned him to be prudent, because, you know, he didn't want anything to happen to him. Because James was afraid that, whoever the mole was, the Death Eaters would use the intel to go after the less dangerous members first.

Relieved, because he wasn't in danger of being discovered.

Guitly because, in the end, he had been the one James had trusted the most not to be the spy. Because, in the end, Remus had been worried about him too, and hadn't even thought about the possibility of him being the spy. Because, in the end, Sirius had trusted him more than anyone when it came to James' security.

Yes, Peter Pettigrew wasn't the most dangerous member of the Order of the Phoenix, but the others had seen someone reliable in him. One couldn't have all the qualities in the world.

But they had been wrong.

He had betrayed them all.

Peter heard his former friend, the one who had entrusted him with his best friend, sneer. As always, it seemed Sirius could tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling, only with a glance. The only times it hadn't been the case... were when Sirius had trusted him, while he had in fact been betraying them.

“I thought so. You don't think your words, Pettigrew. You may pretend you believe them, but deep down, you don't think them. I am well aware of my responsibility in James' and Lily's deaths, but I certainly won't minimize yours because of mine. You are the traitor, not me. You went to Voldemort and you sold them to him, not me. I didn't see you for who you really were, and that is my sin. But yours will always be worse.”

Peter could feel the drop of cold water rolling slowly down his greasy skin, his dirty hair. It was cold. He felt as if a small, razor-sharp blade was rolling down his flesh, for every drop of water.

He felt uncomfortable.

“Tell me what you did exactly, Peter. Tell me your side of the story. Tell me for what reasons you thought you had a right to keep your hide by selling others'. Tell me how you thought you could get away with it, not only by disappearing, but also by framing me for your crimes. Tell me, Peter, everything that happened from the moment you considered becoming a mole to the moment you woke up, immobilized and blindfolded.”

There was a short pause, during which Peter could just tell he wasn't supposed to speak yet. He may not have talked with his former friend in years, but he knew him well enough.

He knew that tone, and the way Sirius could bend his words to get someone emotionally cornered.

But even if he knew what Sirius was doing, it didn't give him much of an edge.

Because it worked nonetheless.

“I want to hear the reasons why I am standing here today, looking at one of my best friends, and feeling only rage. And I want to hear it from you, Peter.”

I want you to condemn yourself just as much as I do, even if you don't think it, in other words. I want you to say everything you did, and I even want you to justify your actions as much as you can, because once you will have done that, I will be free to judge, not your actions, but your intentions. What you did out of true necessity can be forgiven, even if I won't love you more because of it. What you did out of fear can be understood, even if it is disappointing.

But what you did, and are trying to defend even when there is no defending it, I will know that you see how wrong and self-serving it is too. And if there is something I can blame but that you truly believe you did for the best, I will have every right to remind you how morally twisted you have become.

Sirius didn't say these words, but Peter knew he meant them. He had heard acidic lectures from his former friend enough times to know how it would go down.

In shame and hatred.

Or in denial, but Peter liked to think he wasn't so depraved as to fall into this trap. Because if he knew one thing, it was that Sirius was always right when assessing a person, and if he felt that his former friend was wrong about him, then it meant that he, Peter Pettigrew, had fallen very low.

He'd worry if he didn't agree with Sirius by the end of this friendly conversation.

Although, for now, he was more worried about what'd come after the conversation, rather than about the outcome.

Despair was starting to eat at him, truthfully. Peter had no idea if he could get away in time, or if he'd die here, by the hand of one of his rare friends.

He tried to tug at the _stupefy_ which was holding him into immobility, just to see if it wasn't weakened by now. Some time had passed since Sirius had cast it, after all.

As he didn't manage to move anything except his face, as before, he guessed the answer was a “no”.

“But Sirius, you know all that alread...”

Peter was cut by a sharp order.

“Humor me.”

There was nothing humorous about the tone of voice, but Peter gulped and complied.

“At the end of 1980, I was cornered in an alley by Bellatrix. There, she offered me the standard... deal. Intel, or death and very painful torture. I... I said yes, at first only to get away, but she forced me to tell her at least one thing before letting me go. After Fenwick's death, whom they had found because of me, I... I tried to tell James, but... but he asked me how I was doing, and to take care of myself, because the Death Eaters were picking us out and he didn't want anything to happen to me. I didn't manage to speak, so I just nodded. Then there was Glenhill, and I turned to Remus, but he looked like death warmed over, and I just... I didn't go to you, because I was only managing to keep you off my trail because you weren't suspecting me at all. I knew that if I hesitated, and did walk away again, you'd know there was more than the usual stress factors. And I guess it should have comforted me into going to you, but... Sirius... I just knew I'd chicken out, again, and I didn't want you to be suspicious of me. And I didn't want to die.”

Peter took a break for a breath, but Sirius didn't use the opportunity for a comment.

Peter's stomach turned on itself, and he understood he'd have to continue. He wouldn't have thought not being judged right away would be this terrible. He wouldn't have thought he'd rather have Sirius rant at him with hatred and unchained wrath.

Because obviously, had Sirius been openly obsessive about this, Peter would have been able to brush off what his former friend blamed him for. He'd have been able to pretend, if only for his own peace of mind, that Sirius wasn't being reasonable, that he exaggerated everything.

Unfortunately for him, Sirius had seemingly taken an opportunity to collect himself, and hadn't come onto him wand blazing.

Which also meant it would be harder to get away.

“I... Bellatrix came back to see me in July 1981. She wanted info on Lily and Alice, and their pregnancies. I.. I tried to threw her off, but in the end she managed to get something else out of me. The date for the party at the Bones'. Later, I heard that two Death Eaters had infiltrated the house just before the beginning of the party, and murdered about everyone present, including Edgard. I got sick, that day, I'm sure you remember.”

Peter waited for a moment, as if for comfirmation, but still Sirius wasn't talking.

He resigned himself to continue.

“Then you thought it'd be... clever... for you to be a bait for the Death Eaters, while I'd be the true Secret Keeper to James' and Lily's Fidelius charm. I tried to tell you it wasn't a good idea, but you were so sure of yourself...!!!”

“Facts, Peter. I want facts.”

“I... I waited six days. I was hoping you'd change your mind, that you'd tell Dumbledore about the switch, that you'd want the role back, I was hoping for a valid reason not to tell the Dark Lord about it, because it'd blow up my cover, but you never changed your mind. I had to go and meet with Bellatrix, the sixth day, and there was nothing I could do but to tell her.”

A sneer, but not a comment on that one.

A chill traveled down Peter's spine.

And incredibly, his body reacted to it, just a bit, not so much, but just enough to tell him that the stunning spell on him was coming to an end. He had just shivered a bit, after all. It meant he was starting to move again.

It meant he could, perhaps, run for his life, get this blindfold off, and never again cross path back with Sirius Black, if only he could manage not moving an inch between now and the moment of the last remnant of the spell. If only he could do it so that Sirius wouldn't notice.

“Then I tried to flee the country. But you found me, Sirius, you of all people, and I just knew you wouldn't understand. Or, to quote your own words, that you would understand, but never comprehend. And that, because you are you, you would immediately know I had given them away 'out of my free will'. So I did what I had to do.”

Peter couldn't see a thing, not with the blindfold on, but he clearly felt the air being displaced right before his nose. He did his best not to stumble back, as he guessed Sirius had just stopped himself from punching him in the face. It wouldn't do to give away his little secret.

Especially not as Sirius was showing some signs of control lost. Which was as good a news as Peter would get in such a situation.

“Obviously. You turned around, yelled I was a traitor to frame me, and killed everyone in a ten feet radius, except us two, because you had to. Obviously, Peter.”

There was a short silence, and the prisoner did his best not to answer an ill-advised “better them than me”. He didn't think his former friend would take that too well.

Sirius was the one to speak up, once again. There was much contempt in his voice.

Years ago, Peter would never have thought he'd hear this much of his friend's disdain turned against him, and not against some school bully. Then again, years ago, Peter had no idea of how far he would go in order to protect himself.

“I wonder, Peter, do you even realize that your body count is higher than some of the underlings of Voldemort's themselves? Without even talking about the people you condemned to death by telling on them, your direct actions took twelve muggles lives, not that I think you care whether or not they were muggles. You aren't a blood purist, Peter, you just care about yourself more than about anyone else. Congratulations, you have been recognized as a selfish bastard! A selfish bastard with a lot of blood on his hands.”

The ground had to be made of rocky outcrops, because Peter could hear the sounds of Sirius' footsteps quite well. And right now, he was pretty sure his former friend wasn't facing him, or his direction in general.

It was now, or never.

As always, Peter was going to save his own life. Because it wasn't as if anyone else would do it for him, not anymore. No one would fight for him.

Sirius couldn't comprehend that. He couldn't understand that. What Peter had done, was saving himself. Because the world existed to him, only as long as he was alive. Who cared if the world went to hell, once they were dead?

Sirius was wrong about him.

Peter didn't remember, at that moment, that Sirius Black was never wrong in assessing a person. And that, if the person denied it, it was most likely because they had fallen very low.

He was too focused on checking if the _stupefy_ had completely loosened.

Peter tried to relax his muscles, which he had kept very tense in order not to move an inch. It worked. And Peter moved. The stunning spell was gone.

Unfortunately, relaxing all of a sudden wasn't something very clever to do. Peter screamed a bit when the world fell around him, which was very odd while sporting a blindfold, and he barely stopped himself from completely falling to the ground.

He heard the sound of Sirius turning around, but didn't take the time to listen to more. His surprise effect was mostly gone, by now, and he could only run for it, and hope for the best.

Peter managed to move two steps away, before a hand grabbed him and threw him to the ground. His hands shot up to tore off the blindfold, at least, but before he could do a thing, Sirius screamed a stunning spell at him again, and here he was, curled up on the hard ground and unable to move, again, still unseeing but not unhearing.

This was it, he thought. His last opportunity to live had died away. He was done for.

Sirius was going to kill him.

Peter would have sobbed, if he hadn't been unable to move much. Sobbing while immobilized was hard on the ribs, or something like that. He tried to keep the tears in.

He didn't want to die.

When his former friend spoke again, after a bout of loud, angry breathing, the anger was clearer than ever in his tone. It had gone from disdainful and slightly disgusted to downright freezing.

“You have no idea, Peter, of what Azkaban is like. Your life these last years might not have been the best, always hiding, but at least you were free, and there was no happiness-sucking monsters anywhere near you! It takes everything away, every decision, every bit of hope. But one day, I saw a picture in the Daily Prophet, and I recognized you, hiding in plain sight. And then, then, Peter, I swore that I would keep you away from Harry, and, to be honest, from people in general. I escaped, and I came here. I was furious, as you might imagine! I wanted to rip you to shreds, to burn or bury you alive, and possibly to take your eyes out and force you to eat them beforehand. I had only this idea in mind, you see, and I was very adamant in doing it right. I may have overlooked some basic escapee strategies in my rage, but you know how it is, to want something bad enough that you'd do anything for it, don't you, Peter?”

Peter very much wanted to stay alive right now, yes, and he'd do anything for that to happen.

It didn't seem very likely, though.

“But a kid lost his wand, this afternoon, just clear of the Forbidden Forest. He didn't notice right away, and I stumbled upon it. I didn't quite believe my luck. And as I had absolutely no idea of where you were hiding lately, not since the stunt with the blood and the cat, I decided to transfigure myself into someone just different enough that I wouldn't be recognized by the spell Flitwick put on the doors. I got into the kitchen, ate something better than trash and rats, and even managed to take a bath when the night came. I felt just a bit better, after that. And I used the time in the bath to think clearly about our situation.”

Peter would have shivered when his former friend spoke of eating rats for dinner, if he had been able to.

“I thought about it, a lot. And what came out of it, was that I had everything I needed with this wand. I made a quick job of a map I'm certain you remember, and I found you. Stunning you and getting you here wasn't very difficult after that. And here we are, Peter, you and me, once again. Only, the roles are different this time around. And you won't walk out of it as you did the first time. You should thank me that I haven't tried to kick your guts out yet, because I'd certainly love to do it.”

“Si... Sirius... You won't just kill me, right? Not me, not your old friend! Think about it, I'm the only one who knows you aren't the one they all think you are!!! I can testify, if you want, or...”

Peter felt two hands touching his head, right on the blindfold.

“You know what's your problem, Peter? In itself, it's not that you wanted to live so bad you betrayed us all. The problem, Peter, is that you still manage to justify this betrayal even after everything went sour for you. The problem, Peter, is that you never took responsibility for your choices, even after the immediate danger had disappeared. The problem, Peter, is that you decided it was better to kill a dozen of innocents and frame a friend for life, when you could have gotten away with only a few years in Azkaban, if you had defended your case right; Bellatrix Lestrange herself had threatened you, after all. The problem, Peter, is that even if you did what you did unwillingly, you didn't turn around, once you were free, to ask for forgiveness, but you ran and aggravated your case.”

Peter panicked.

He didn't want to die, not today, not ever! He couldn't just die like that, not after all these years in hiding, bearing to be a rat every hour of the day, knowing he would never be able to live freely again!!! He couldn't just die like that! He had sacrificed too much to stay alive, he couldn't die like that!!!

He couldn't die like that...

“Sirius, please, I swear I'll tell them everything, I'll tell them you're innocent, that I did it, I...”

“It's too late, Peter.”

The prisoner froze, or, as he was already immobilized, he freaked out internally. His heart was beating like mad, he had the feeling he was going to die. Wouldn't it be ironic, to die now of an heart attack?

Sirius had said it'd be all over when he'd take off the blindfold.

Peter Pettigrew was going to die, and this time, there was no escaping it.

The blindfold fell from his eyes. Peter's eyes suddenly were assaulted by light. He saw nothing else.

 

Sirius blinked, as the stunning spell was rendered useless, and disappeared as a consequence.

He certainly had been hoping for something like that to happen, he had even done his best for something like that to happen, but he hadn't really believed it would actually happen. He was a bit surprised it had actually happened. Despite his dreaming that such a thing would happen, he had thought he'd just give the worst fright of his life to the bastard.

Giving someone a heart attack wasn't exactly something you planned for.

He stared at the slumped corpse of Peter Pettigrew, former friend and best traitor, for a while.

Then he looked up and around, and shrugged, because even if he was sad that the gentle Wormtail of his teenage years was gone, he couldn't care less about the despicable man Wormtail had become.

Or maybe he could, because he really wanted to kick the cadaver bloody, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be appreciated by his audience. It was better to play indifference.

“Oh dear. A heart attack. So unpredictable. And shocking.”

Sirius sounded so true right now, he'd give himself a 10 out of 10 for lack of emotions in acting.

 

There was a long silence in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore, the four Head of Houses, and all the other professors, as well as the remaining staff, a few Aurors, the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, Madame Bones, even the retired Moody Mad-Eye, and yet a dozen of other adults were staring at the surreal scene in front of them.

It was about four in the morning, all the students were in bed, and Sirius Black was standing in the Great Hall, gazing dispationately at the body of his former friend, supposedly-blown-to-bits Peter Pettigrew.

The Headmaster and Flitwick had come down to the Hall after a silent alarm had flashed in Dumbledore's office. An alarm that had been set up because of Black's presence around the school.

Also, an alarm that shouldn't have gone off, considering the other alarms that the escapee should have started on his way to the Great Hall.

The Headmaster and the Head of Ravenclaw had come to a disturbing scene, where an underfed but smiling Sirius Black had greeted them from behind a circular wall of various runic wards. Sure, the smile had looked a bit thin, a bit forced, but a smile nonetheless.

Dumbledore had called for all the adults in the castle, and Flitwick had contacted the competent authorities outside of the school.

Then they had noticed the stupefied individual standing behind Black in a rather rigid pose, with a blindfold on. There was something familiar about him, but they couldn't quite tell what exactly. Then again, both professors had seen enough students over the years for this stranger to be one of them.

By the time everyone had gathered in the Great Hall, it was almost four in the morning, and Black hadn't done a thing, either towards them or to his prisoner. It was as if he had been waiting for them.

The Minister for Magic had watched, baffled, the scene for a whole minute. Then he had turned to the Headmaster, and had asked why they weren't taking down the runic wards.

Dumbledore had handed him the piece of parchment Black had left outside the wards, just for them to see. It said there was no point trying to break the wards, because he wouldn't let them take him alive, and you never knew what would happen to his prisoner during the twenty minutes it'd take to destroy his extensive warding. It also said there was no point trying to talk, because he had sound-proofed the wards. It finally said he hoped they'd enjoy the show.

Then Black had gotten the stranger to wake up, and had started talking. He had lied to his prisoner about the sound-proofing, about being in the Forbidden Forest, and a few other things, but it was obvious that he wasn't trying to deceive them. Only him.

And more importantly, he had called the stranger “Peter”, as in “Peter Pettigrew”. And “Peter” had never argued about that. And Black had orchestrated a testimony from “Peter”, by misleading the man into thinking he was going to kill him, in the end.

Black undid his wards, handed his stolen wand to Minerva McGonagall, and sat down at a table.

“Any question?”

 

 

 


End file.
